Sliding Down the Slope
by Zana Zira
Summary: Pre-series, Stanford Era. A man's twenty-first birthday is supposed to be happy, a day to cut loose and enjoy his coming-of-age with the one he loves. But for Sam Winchester, a misunderstanding of the Winchester variety might turn this day of celebration into one of complete disaster.


**Disclaimer: Supernatural and its characters are the property of Eric Kripke. Sadly, I do not own any of them.**

**A/N: This was written for Unattainable Dreams' January Prompt Exchange Challenge. My prompt was the song "Treacherous" by Taylor Swift.**

* * *

"Jess? You ready?" Sam called through the bathroom door. It came through a little muffled, but still loudly enough to startle her slightly.

"Yeah, be right out!" she said back, using the straightening iron to put a few finishing touches on her long blonde hair, which was usually a mess of loose curls and waves. Tonight, though, was May second – Sam's twenty-first birthday – and she wanted to look her best when they went out to celebrate it. Both of them had taken the last of their semester finals on Friday, two days before, so they didn't have to worry about staying out too late. That was good, because she was pretty sure Sam was going to be having at least a few celebratory drinks now that it was legal for him to. Jessica wouldn't be twenty-one until the following January, but that was alright with her; at least one of them needed to be sober tonight.

When she'd finally deemed herself presentable, silky blue shirt and denim shorts perfectly smoothed out and blue open-toed shoes on, she stepped out of the bathroom, where she found Sam patiently waiting for her on the edge of their bed. That's how Sam was in every aspect of his life – patient, calm, and even-tempered. It had taken a while for Jessica to get used to that after they started dating. She'd assumed he had been putting on some kind of cool-guy act when he was out around other people, but no, he really was that level-headed. She'd never met anyone quite like Sam, the quiet boy from parts unknown who got into Stanford purely on academics and didn't have a penny to his name before he arrived. That said, she was more than happy to know him now.

Sam's lips pulled up into an affectionate smile as he took in her appearance. "You look great, Jess."

"Thanks. So do you."

Sam chuckled and shook his head. "You're a good liar. Maybe you should go up for pre-law instead of pre-med."

"Oh, shut up. You know I'm not lying," she said with a gentle punch to his shoulder. "Now are you ready for some birthday food or not, Mister Twenty-one Today?"

Sam's grin widened, and his stomach chose the perfect moment to growl loudly in agreement. "Oh, yeah."

* * *

Sam had chosen a rather odd locale for a twenty-one-year-old's birthday dinner: a weathered-looking diner that also happened to serve alcohol. They ordered burgers and shared a salad, and Jessica got a milkshake while Sam had a few large beers. When Jessica had asked him about his choice of venue, curious as to why he wouldn't let her treat him to something more expensive, he'd just answered that he'd practically grown up in diners, and it made him feel more at home than any fancy restaurant ever could. He didn't want to reveal the reasons why, since he'd only spoken to her about his father and brother once or twice in the time they'd been dating. It was still a sore spot for him, and he hadn't spoken to either of them in almost two years, so she tended to leave the issue alone.

Come to think of it, he was a little surprised that even Dean hadn't sent a text or anything today. John never called, and Sam honestly couldn't have cared less whether he did or not. But his brother had always made sure to call on his birthday, usually leaving a message since the only time he could call was at night after John was asleep, and Sam's phone was on silent by then. Today, though, there hadn't been anything, and Sam hadn't realized how much he missed the messages from Dean until they stopped coming. Had he finally decided he was done with Sam, just like their father had? He hoped not, but the possibility sent a chill through him anyway.

"Sam?" Jessica asked, the concerned lines on her face telling him that he must've been spaced out for quite a while. "You okay?"

"Fine. I'm fine," he said hurriedly, taking another bite of his burger and a very long swallow of beer. "Just thinking, that's all."

She pursed her lips and raised an eyebrow skeptically but didn't say anything, for which he was immensely grateful. Tonight was supposed to be about him and her, not whatever mess he had made with his father and brother before coming to Stanford.

"So, Sam," she said in an obvious attempt to change the subject. "What do you wanna do after we –"

His phone suddenly buzzed, startling both of them as it rattled across the table, and Sam grabbed it before it could fall to the floor. His heart sped up when he read the caller-ID: DEAN. He carefully flipped the phone open, looking over the five-page message and feeling his heart sink further with every word.

"_Sam._

_We just finished a job a few minutes ago – took longer than it should've without someone to help research, but hey, what's a few hours when people are dying? Guess you're probably out having drinks with some pretty girl or something, since that's what college kids do. That's a treacherous, slippery slope, Sam. Be careful you don't forget who you are, or you'll end up hurting her when she finds out. Don't worry about us – we'll stitch ourselves up and move on, like we always do, while you get hammered and party all night. And don't worry about calling back. This is the last time I'll be bothering you, if you even choose to look at this. _

_Oh, yeah. And happy birthday._"

Sam snapped the phone shut, feeling sick to his stomach and completely losing interest in the food on his plate. This wasn't how tonight was supposed to go. Why had Dean suddenly turned against him? Had he done something so wrong even his brother hated him now? He swallowed hard, not willing to let himself feel the burn in his eyes, and dully registered Jessica's hand on his arm.

"Sam?" she asked softly, and he shook his head, standing up from the table.

"We need to go, Jess. I'm sorry. I need – I can't –" he stammered, trying to get himself under control while he stumbled toward the door. He hadn't realized how much beer he'd had until now, but it was making it a little hard to walk straight.

"Sam, wait!" Jessica called, grabbing his arm just before he reached the door. The restaurant was on the second floor of the building they were in, with some hardware store they had no interest in underneath. "What is it? Did I say something wrong?"

"No, it wasn't you," he said, shaking his head a little more vehemently than necessary and wincing when it made him dizzy. He made his way to the staircase outside, her hand still in his, and smiled apologetically. "Can we just get home first? Then I'll tell you wh – ah."

Jess watched, seemingly in slow-motion, as Sam's hand slipped out of hers and his foot unexpectedly dropped over the first step. His eyes widened, and he tumbled backwards down the tall set of stairs with a series of horrible metallic clangs, long limbs flailing in a desperate attempt to stop his fall and failing miserably. When he reached the bottom, she had already begun tearing after him, and she was terrified by the way his crumpled form hadn't moved at all by the time she reached his side.

"Sam? Sam!" she cried, kneeling beside him and hoping he was still conscious. _Please be okay, please be okay… _He blinked slowly up at her, pushing himself up on his elbows and attempting to stand. The moment his weight shifted over his long legs, though, he tensed and sucked in a pained gasp, moaning and laying back against the concrete.

"Agh! Damn, that h-hurts… Nnnnhh…" he said in a choked whisper. One of her hands found his, and he clenched it tightly as he fought to keep himself together.

"What hurts, Sam? Can you tell me?" Jessica placed a steady hand on his shaking shoulder and spoke as calmly as possible, suddenly glad for having been raised in a family of doctors and knowing how to keep calm in situations like this.

He nodded, pulling in a shuddering breath through clenched teeth. "Leg… Right leg…"

"Okay. I'm just going to take a look at it, okay?"

He closed his eyes, keeping his head still and breathing as slowly and deeply as he could manage. "Mm-hmm."

While one of the managers dialed 911, she slowly pushed up the leg of his jeans, looking for anything out of the ordinary while trying not to think about his stuttering gasps of pain. A few seconds later, she realized this was much more than she could handle on her own. A long white shard of bone stuck out from the middle of Sam's shin, sluggishly bleeding down and around his calf with every heartbeat. A second splinter lay at the base of it, just barely poking through the skin. It reminded her all too much of some movie-monster's enormous, jagged teeth.

"Oh, God. Oh, God. Jess –" Sam's eyes were wide as saucers, his face ashen and clammy as he stared down at the wound. He swallowed hard, looking like he was about two seconds away from throwing up, and his breathing immediately got faster.

"Shh," she shushed him gently, taking his face in her hands and turning it toward hers. "Don't panic, Baby. It'll be okay, just focus on me."

He clenched his teeth, breathing harshly through his nose as he fought to ride out the throbbing agony. "Hurts, Jess…"

"I know, Honey. I know." She turned her attention to the manager, letting Sam hold onto a fistful of her shirt while she gently stroked his shaggy hair. He could hear her telling the man his medical information, and see several people gaping at them from the landing above. They'd probably heard her shouting and come to see what had happened. Everything was getting fuzzy, and the longer he waited, the further the sound seemed to fade until there was nothing but the sound of his own heartbeat in his ears. Man, he was tired.

"_So much for partying all night, eh, Dean?_"

That was the last thing he remembered before everything faded to black.

* * *

The next time Sam awoke, Jessica was right beside him, holding onto his hand as he came out of the anesthesia he'd been placed under for surgery. He blinked sluggishly in her general direction, not quite aware of where he was yet, and then his eyes widened and darted around the room as the Pulse-Ox meter sped up and beeped.

"Jess? What – where –?" he almost shouted, his words still slurred from the amount of drugs in his system.

"Sam, calm down. It's okay," she said softly, squeezing his hand and petting his hair until the numbers dropped to a more normal level. "You're in the hospital. You broke your leg and had to have surgery, remember?"

Sam stared down at his right leg, which was wrapped in a fiberglass cast from ankle to hip, and a silly grin spread over his face. "Oh, yeah, s'right. I fell down th'stairs at th' res'rant."

"Yeah, you did," she answered, trying not to laugh at how loopy her boyfriend was right now.

"Wondered why m'leg felt so heaaavy. But they fixed it?"

"Mm-hmm, they fixed it. But you're going to be in that cast for a couple of months."

"Oh well," he said nonchalantly, complete with an over-exaggerated shrug. "We live on th' firs' floor, so s'okay." He got a serious expression on his face, then, and looked around the room in search of a clock. "Jess? 'm I still twenty-one?" he asked slowly; she interpreted that as "Is it still my twenty-first birthday?"

"Yeah, Sam, you are."

"Good. Didn't wanna miss th' whole thing. Stupid leg." He suddenly smirked, looking over at his crushed phone on the table and remembering what the text had said earlier. "Jess, this slope might be treach'rous, but I-I-I liiiike it."

Jessica laughed, smoothing down part of his bedraggled hair while he fought to stay awake. "I like it too, Sam. I like it too. Now go to sleep, Baby. I'll be here when you wake up."

"'Kay. Love you, Jess."

"I love you too, Sam."

And two-thousand miles away, in the middle of the balmy Florida night, Dean Winchester was trying to send a birthday text to Sam, not knowing what John had sent earlier and wondering if his brother had finally given up on him when it was returned, unread, every single time.


End file.
